


I'm Trying.

by WiresCarryingMe



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (Kinda in chapter 3?), (almost forgot to add that tag oops), (briefly) - Freeform, (if i missed anything let me know i'll tag it), (kinda in chapt 2? there will be future hurt/comfort though), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Projecting onto TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Panic Attacks, Running Away, Self-Harm, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiresCarryingMe/pseuds/WiresCarryingMe
Summary: Tommy has a bad time.Tommy is trying very hard no to.Tommy is going to be better, whether the world and himself like it or not.
Relationships: None, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, platonic - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	1. Wish I Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a playlist i made to make this fic. enjoy the ride.   
> Chapter 1 inspired by the song "Wish I Were Here" from the musical Next To Normal, its a very good song, i'd recommend listening to it, prolly while reading. I listened to it as a wrote the chapter.   
> if anyone in this fic wants it taken down, i will do so. don't send this fic to anyne in this fic.

Tommy wishes he was here going to be here, in this world. His mind is so damn conflicting, although he has moments of solace it is so endlessly puzzling. Even his decision is confusing. He had felt a metaphorical hunger for a long time, eating his soul as the years went on, he feels like he’s world away from who he was yet the same person. In those long but so small in comparison moments he feels as if though he was the same person as his persona, not this shell of a thing. Maybe its just being alone that makes him like this. 

The bad things never helped him, at first it kept him afloat, scratching and biting and shit. It kept him, an in odd way but never did. It was just a habit. Then he discovered cutting. So dangerous. It didn’t help, not even in the one moment when it felt nice. Apparently it was supposed to help at first, but it never did. It was only something to keep him together. Funny, how a think that tears your skin apart can hold your mind together like you took a needle and thread and force it in there to heal the wounds. He had scars so noticeable yet so hidden and unseen. He wishes he could leave yet he wants to say here. He wishes he was here, wishes hes going to be in the future because goddammit he wants to. Yet its a sirens call.   
He’s in his room staring at the ceiling, so close and yet so far from SOMETHING. What is that something. He has friends, friends who care (yet he cannot extend the burden of “asking for help” no. 

He’d rather do things he knew how. By being “loud”, by being funny. Tommy can be a pretty good distraction to an audience of thousands, with himself and his persona, both so different yet blending seamlessly) he had family who cares (they were so distant yet so close. He knows that asking for help would be met with being brushed off or being helped and he doesn’t want to take the risk, he has everything fine himself, Thank You.) and people in general who cares.   
And a best friend (he doesn’t care about you, apart of Tommy’s mind whispers. He wishes he could shut it up)…he doesn’t want to think about Him when he’s like this. He’d know it only hurt his friend if he ever knew, and he couldn’t face that. 

He wishes the sirens call of the “hunger” the urge to cut. He doesn’t even know why it seemed so appealing anymore, he found a way to do it without having to spent frustration on damn scissors. It was so easy. Everyone could practically see them, the scars, but no one saw them. Its as if people are blinded to them, they must think their from a “kid just being a kid”, “playing around”, “no way tommy could…”. Like people actually thought that, the idea just made him huff , a bare husk, a dead body, of a laugh. 

He feels so lost, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do at all. He doesn’t want to do it again and feel the panic, see a wound on himself and patch it up with anxieties filling him, worrying about death, about blasting his mind away like a bomb was set off or clouding his mind up until the last moments. He doesn’t know what bleeding out was like, he never tried that way. The other ways weren’t like what he described in his abstract, creative, mind. 

He cannot think about this any longer, he is trapped in a different cage. Different from the cage of the monotony of those moments, those dark caged moments where he feels like he cannot even move anymore, metaphorically. At least he thinks that's how metaphors work, but he doesn’t know. Technoblade was an English nerd, after all, not him. The thought of his friend cuts through his chaotic chaos cloud of a mind for a moment, like a blade cutting fog that clears before it just covers the wielder and his blade up, with only a hint of his existence left.   
His friends might understand, might help. Yet the thought of hurting any of them, with destroying them with his problems, his stupid issues. It pains him and he cant bear it. He can’t let that weight on them, no matter what. Tommy likes to think he tries to be a good kid, Tommy likes to think he tries to be a smart kid, learning what he wants to or enjoys and occasionally learning things he didn’t want to learn or found boring. Tommy likes to think that however “bad” he might be in reality, he still goddamn tries. 

So he does not get help, because he does not want to burden. So he sits here thinking. Just sits here narrating like its a dumb fucking story. What’s that damn smell. He decides he does not like the smell, like its all the things he’d do anything to forget in a damn smell. Its came from outta nowhere. What the fuck.   
And thus, Tommy continues thinking, continues narrating his thoughts. In cycles.


	2. Achilles, Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He fucked up. Why did he do that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WZ7PGrgRzY while writing. Stay safe! this chapter mentions past suicide attempts and has a panic attack (both based on personal experiences) so be cautious while reading.

Tommy really hates nights like these. Nights like these where its all he can remembers, almost fucking dying by his own hand. Not the other times he almost died, not the other times when his live could’ve been gone. All he can remember is almost dying by his own hand. He remembers being on that damn railing, only not jumping off because there was people below. He was in school, on the second floor. He just wanted to take himself out, so he climbed down. He didn’t care, sure, but at the same time he couldn’t. He remembers trying to choke so many times.

He never leaves a note, its just dumb. It delays it. Yet he’s stopped himself so many times, he’s just delaying it as well. He hates when all he can think about is this, just riding through it, sometimes embracing it and walking down the subject of suicide, riding with it, flowing with it until it passed him, or until he fell asleep. He knows his friends are just one discord call, one message, away. Just one or a few clicks and he could tell, he could ask for help. Yet he doesn’t. Its his mind speaking in their words telling him to come down almost each time, and its also their words, a distorted version made by his own hatred, telling him to do it. He hates it. He doesn’t want to hurt them, so he does nothing, he stays stuck in this damn stasis of nothing and he hates it. 

He involuntarily sobs. He doesn’t like crying, Tommy hates crying. He doesn’t want to cry, yet he is anyways. Crying is supposed to feel chemicals that make you feel better, its supposed to make you feel better yet he fucking hates it and it does nothing for him, in his opinon. His small opinon, one in fucking 4? 7? 9? billion?  
However many people are on this cursed planet. He used to be so smart, he used to know things. Tommy was always so smart, yet he’s so dumb, even back when he was smart he was dumb. He wishes he could be that smart person again, he wishes he wasn’t such a dirty fucking Cheater. That’s what he feels like, he feels like he can’t be fucking smart so he’s a cheater. He must cheat because to Tommy, Tommy is not smart.

He feels himself choking on his own tears. How pathetic. He wishes so hard that someone knew, that someone cared, that someone would hug him and promised to care and keep himself, promised to love him like family and friends would. But yet he feels so alone, he knows they care yet the don’t. He fucking hates it. He tries to breathe. He can’t. He grabs his phone and tries desperately to call someone, to hear voices before it all fades. 

“-oomy? Tommy?” he hears a voice on the phone. He doesn’t know who it is. 

“Breathe in” the voice instructs, he follows the instructions the best he could. 

“Breathe out” the voice said after a few seconds. It repeated until he stopped. 

“Are you okay, man?” Tubbo. He called fucking Tubbo. He fucked up. 

“Sorry, dude. I’m alright.” Tommy forced out, feeling so tired and filled with regret and remorse. He wanted to tear himself apart limb by limb and scream at himself. 

“You had a panic attack.” Tubbo said must’ve sensing all his bullshit. 

Tommy hanged up in a sudden panic. He texted Tubbo a quick “be right back” and threw his phone across the room. He ignored the calls and drowned in his guilt. 

“What the fuck, Tommy.” he said to himself. He wondered why he didn’t pick the phone back up, he wondered why he fucking threw it, he wondered why he was selfish enough in the first place to dare call for help when he knew he would just hurt someone. He thought he was dying and yet he called to hear someone, when he wanted that in the first place. He wondered why he was such a coward. 

Tommy never asked for help, as much as he could. He never wanted to hurt never wanted to burden, because in his mind thats where all help led to. Hurting others. So, to Tommy. You must help yourself, you cannot be helped by others because youll hurt them youll destroy youll turn them to a fucking shell of themselves, youll make them into a sand-like dust. At least to Tommy. So he tried to never ask for help. He just called his best friend, who had helped with his panic attack. Tommy just asked for help. 

He heard apart of his mind say that his best friend hated him, and one that said he didn’t, one that said his best friend wanted him dead, and one that didn’t. An internal battle, until he fell asleep, in pain. 

It’s always a loop.


	3. Thanks for the memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy writes and calls Wilbur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one night? yeah. This fic is going in a different direction than planned, this will be a fun ride! also this is unedited like all the other chapters in this fic. uhh i mainly listened to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5ehgdDIxqQ  
> while writing. 
> 
> also i think phil and techno are mentioned in this chapter? they should be at least lol.

He never answered in the end. He made up a lame excuse to Tubbo as to why he never picked up, and left it at that. He knew he was a coward in not telling the truth, but what would be say? That his thoughts spiraled until he went to bed? He couldn’t do that to him, he couldn’t say that. He’d just hurt his friend more than he already did. 

He had never left a note in each of his attempts. The thought was curious to him, maybe thats the trick? Its the point of no return, the absolute fucking marker of failure if you didn’t succeed. It would be a reminder that wasn’t the memories, the only tangible proof that you tried to jump. He had a computer he could write on. It seemed so tempting, yet he wasn’t gonna do it? 

He remembers his times streaming, having fun with his friends. He remembers laughing and feeling happy with his friends. He remembers chatting with Wilbur, Phil, Technoblade off stream at random times, just late night chats when they were all sleepless. He remembers listening to music the each had talked about or recommended. He remembers the songs he associates with them. He remembers all his chats with Tubbo. He remembers all his chats with his friends. 

Tommy opens a google doc. 

“Thanks for the memories, I had so much fun.” is what he’s met with. He’s met with 9 words. “fun doesn’t last forever though, it has to end eventually. I’m sure you’ll all have fun without me though, I’m sure you’ll all move on soon.” he was scared at the “Move on soon.” he’s just writing on the fly, it won’t ever be seen. Just. Journaling. Yeah, journaling. 

“you just journaling your feelings in a form of a letter, Tommy.” he lied to himself. 

“I am like a small ant. A tiny thing you might admire for a second, a pest you might become fond of a make a pet, for whatever bizzare reason you would. But a ant is still a pest, not a pet. You must kill the pest eventually. Fortunately, you are spared that deed.”

he stops writing and closes his document. He gets up and calls Wilbur.

“Hey.” he says into the phone, unsure. 

“You okay, toms?” He heard wilbur ask. 

“What are you doing right now?” Tommy asked. He didn’t want to interrupt, yet he also didn’t want to be alone. He is not calling for help, he is talking to a friend. No calls for help here. It could be just a few words away- 

“eating a pizza.” such a boring thing. Not helpful. 

There was a silence, he was so close. So close to just asking for help. Just saying “help.” its one damn word. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, yet he feels a drive to ask for help, regardless of the consequences. 

“Soo… need help with anything Tommy?” clearly he was done waiting for Tommy to speak. Tommy didn’t even realize he should’ve been, with his silence. That was the worst possible thing for Wilbur to say. The worst possible thing. 

Its what apart of him is screaming to ask, yet begging him not to. Tommy was scared. Tommy let out a sigh at his torn up thoughts. Why couldn’t he make up his mind? Why is he seeking so much attention?

“is everything okay?” 

“its nothing- nevermind that. Just. Talk about your day?” he asked, extremely unsure. He knows Wilbur knows somethings up. Tommy wants to think this isn’t him asking for help, that this is just a friend asking a simple question, not a sign that something was up, not a sign to check up on him, not a sign to try and get him to open up somehow because he didn’t know how and because he was scared to. Because apart of him didn’t want it yet another part of him was begging for it. 

Wilbur talked, and Tommy listened. He felt tired, not paying attention and listening to the man ramble. He felt sleepy. 

Tommy let out a big yawn. 

“Go to bed, Toms.” he heard Wilbur say. 

For the first time in awhile, Tommy had a peaceful sleep. He did not ask for any help, he did not truly reach out about his issues. But in a way it helped. 

He was in bed staring at the ceiling the next day, in the morning. “you can’t do that again, you know? They have better things to do then distract you from your own issues, your getting in their way.” and that part of him felt so right. He wished he could isolate himself and not cause any concerns. He wished he could isolate himself and cause concerns. He wished someone would force him to say “i’m not alright. I need help. He wished someone would force him to say the truth yet he dreaded the moment. His mind was confusing. 

What else is new?


	4. I don't think I want to leave you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy has no idea what he's doing, only that he knows this will be temporary. He has no idea what's ahead, despite thinking he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to and the title of this chapter is from I'm Sorry Boris by Wilbur Soot. I will update my other fics soon! For now, enjoy this.

Tommy would admit he has no idea what he is doing, if he had anyone to admit anything to but himself. It had been a good little bit, surprisingly. There was a few months where he was doing fine, extending conversations so so long, asking at every corner with bursts of energy for people to talk, knowing he’d have to reply to every part, which was always fun. Finding ways to make the conversations, the emails, the calls, the everything longer. He found new things to keep him busy, he wrote, he listened to music for hours on end blasting his mind out, he counted minutes just for the hell of it. In those months, he found a new desire. Running away.   
He wishes to Run away into a new reality, he wishes to just pull another universe dead set into his in a collusion course, fuck the consequences. He wants change. He wants everything to change. He feels as if there is a demon sucking everything out of his life, out of his home, out of every single area and he wants it banished. He wants to leave, but he cannot.   
Because his friends are here, because the people he cares about are connected to that box filled with parts. He knows he has a phone, he knows he could figure out another set up. He’s gone through it in his head so many times. He cannot escape it, maybe taking a few of his friends along, in his little imagination.   
He imagines so many things. But he knows running away won’t help him run away from his mind, he knows taking his backpack full of shit and running to a forest won’t help him run away from his issues that are inside of him. But still, he even dreams about it, willingly and not.   
Tommy knows what it means. He cares about the things inside of the “system” the demon is sucking everything out of, the demon being whatever is pulling him down like a weight. Whatever the demon is a metaphor for, is still unknown. 

Still, he laughs with Wilbur, as they play minecraft, streaming. Just a simple little survival world, point long forgotten as they laugh and virtually fight each other, making jokes to each other as they run to each over in game, having just respawned, locked in a mini-pvp battle. These are the nice moments, and he loves it. The chat passing by beside him, completely ignored as he gets absorbed in the fun, while also being aware of the higher and higher climbing numbers and flying by words that are acknowledged. This is the life, where the “demon” that seems to be plaguing everything goes away. Eventually they stop and get absorbed in the base they are building, answering questions from donations in a podcast-like stream, calming down. He doesn’t want to leave here, leave the moments like this. They’re nice. Despite everything else, he’ll stay for things like this. For now. 

Eventually they both end their streams. 

“How was your day, Wilbur?” Tommy blurts before Wilbur can even start his sentence he was going to ask, the same as Tommy’s. 

“It was nice, I woke up and there was a sale on some food that I ordered, The documentary I found on TV today was interesting, did you know that….” Wilbur went on, having gotten used to this rhythm. Tommy asking him about his day, avoiding his own day, or rarely, truly, opening up, just a tiny bit. A peak behind the curtain. 

“By the way, Tommy,” Wilbur adds to their normal routine, “You know I’m here for you, right?” 

It was new, made Tommy’s heart race with anxiety, brain hoping that there was nothing off about him. 

“Yeah, yeah. I do.” Tommy replied, looking away from the monitor that held Wilbur’s facecam on their discord call. Being absorbed in his room. 

Wilbur’s phone rang, he looked down at the phone and Tommy looked at the monitor to only see he only caught the tail end of a face filled with, a emotion, before going to normal and looking back at the monitor:

“I have to pick this up, I’ll talk to you later Tommy.” he said, and Tommy watched as Wilbur left discord to answer a call from a phone number. 

Now, Tommy is here on his bed. With his backpack to his side, phone discarded somewhere. Tommy’s thinking. Tommy cannot resist the sirens call to run away. He knows he’ll go home, he knows he cannot run forever, yet he pretends. He forgets how his calls with his friends have lessened, he forgets how his messages have lessened, he forgets it all. He forgets it all, and focuses on the fantasy. The fantasy of just running away from this place, nothing here he cares about because its all somewhere else, or able to be accessed in the digital world. Truly, nothing his keeping him here. At least in the fantasy. The wild spirit within him wants to leave. He packs his bag and ignores the side of his brain that is worried about what he’s doing, pondering if its right. He ignores how there are things he cares about here, like it or not. He ignores how he knows that he cannot run from his brain. He ignores that it cannot last forever, he ignores all the things telling him this is dumb. 

He ignores how he doesn’t want to leave this place that seems horrid, for the people he cares about is here. Right here. Even if logically they are miles away over the internet, they are still right here at heart. These walls he still cares about, his family he still loves, he truly still cares about it all. But yet. Whatever is tainting it all, is making him want to run away from it. Even though it wouldn’t change many things, he wants to leave. And he is, although its not processed in him. 

As he walks down and out he knows he doesn’t want to leave the people here, metaphorically or not, alone. Tommy opens the door and walks out onto the sidewalk, breeze flowing past him as he smells the outside air, looks at the sidewalk and the grass and the streetlights. He walks and he looks at the sky, trees and then nights blackness that connects him and 7 billion other people. 

He absorbs the smell, the feeling he has in each step, the lights and how much he missed walking at night. He treasures each car he hears passing by, each little animal he sees that wiggled their way here, to this place. He treasures the grass and the buildings. Even though its all built, the land that was here millions of years ago edited by human forces, he still treasures it and absorbs it. This is also nice. 

He walks, and his thoughts drown out as the feeling of satisfaction fills him. He walks and absorbs nature. But then he wonders where he is going to go, he wonders how his family would react if he isn’t there. He wonders what people would think if he went missing. He thinks of the memories he’s had in the buildings in the place behind him. 

He’s stopped on the sidewalk, and he sighs. He stands, looking at the ground. He likes this, he loves what he’s doing so much. But he also cares about the people around him. He knows they will be hurt is he just moves from where he is into the world just wandering. But he walks away anyways, and goes to the train station. 

He enters the train, and leaves. He knows he’ll be back, but he knows that he’s leaving now. And that is enough.


End file.
